


Shining Shadows

by Leigh Jackwood (Leigh_Jackwood)



Series: All That Glitters [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elves, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leigh_Jackwood/pseuds/Leigh%20Jackwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the Third Age from the Last Alliance to the destruction of the Ring, told by the Elves who lived through it: Thranduil's son, Elrond's daughter and Glorfindel's niece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the Last Alliance, just as the armies return home. Part of the All That Glitters series, set before Fortune's Fool.

**Shining Shadows**

**Chapter One**

**  
**

For seven years the armies of the Last Alliance under Gil-Galad and Elendil had besieged Barad-dûr. Finally they had met the Dark Lord Sauron in battle and though they sustained heavy losses, deemed themselves victorious. The Ring passed to Isildur who refused to destroy it. Many lay dead on the slopes of Mount Doom, the High King of the Noldor among them. Those who returned did so with heavy hearts. Thranduil, newly elevated to Elvenking in Greenwood travelled home to his wife and three young sons. Elrond, now the last leader of the Noldor made his way back to the haven of Imladris with Erestor and Glorfindel of Gondolin. The Istari, wizards sent to counter Sauron's evil in Middle Earth, scattered once again. The Blue Wizards passed east and south into nothing but faint memories. Radagast returned to the forests of the world. Gandalf and Saruman rode north with the Lords of the Havens, the last of Gil-Galad's court in Lindon, to the sea. There, seven years before, Gandalf had left the home he had made with Isowen, sister to Glorfindel, and their children. Saruman rode with his friend, for the rain of orcish arrows had robbed Middle Earth of the last daughter of Gondolin and he worried for his friend lost in grief.

... ...

The mood hanging over the convoy was dark, one better suited to a routed army after a defeat than a victory. Saruman alone rode without a grief stricken face. He watched the elves with curiosity. He watched his fellow wizard with contempt. Mithrandir had fallen low, caught by the vices their mortal forms had given them: love, a need for family and a home. He had barely bothered to remember what the three children looked like, they were hardly as spectacularly important as Melian's daughter Luthien had been. A boy and two girls, Saruman had to think hard before conjuring up their names. Gandir, the son and the eldest, he had to be nearing the age when a boy could become a page to a lord. The girls, Saruman could not remember their names off the top of his head.

With him rode Círdan, Lord of the Havens, wrapped up in a quiet cloud of grief. Gil-Galad and Isowen had been close friends, as had many who had fallen. Saruman had been unfortunate enough to encounter Glorfindel, Isowen's brother on the battlefield, just as the news was broken to him. The grief of an elf reborn in splendour was not something he cared to see again, the air shook with the Golden Lord. Galdor followed, the only one who would speak with Saruman if asked a direct question. The others remained silent.

It had taken them a month to reach the fortress of Isengard where they had split from the host returning to Imladris with Elrond. By the time Saruman caught sight of the distant sea, the Gulf of Lhûn, he had been surrounded by silent grief for nearly two turns of the moon. He did not know the name of the captain who rode out with what little remained of the Mithlond guard to meet them. Círdan greeted him quietly and they rode on, down the hill to the city nestled either side of the river Lhûn. As the gates opened before them, members of the company began to slip away. Unnamed elven soldiers vanishing down streets Saruman had never visited. He rode on, down to the shore and the house where the children were kept. As far as he understood, from what he had been forced to listen to over the past seven years from Gandalf and Isowen, most of the children left in the Havens were fostered together by three elves who had followed Círdan since the first age. They had been let out into the wide gardens that lined the street before it reached the wharves, behind the low hedge tiny faces stared up at them, looking for a familiar figure.

Gandalf did not stop at the foster-house, leaving Saruman to follow him away from the shouts of high pitched young voices calling out joyfully to their parents. For a moment Saruman heard victory, then the first bereaved parent met their child and he heard the only spoils of war the elves encountered: grief.

"Where is he going?" Galdor asked, hesitating. Gandalf had continued along the street, turning at the far end until Saruman lost sight of him.

"Home," answered Saruman.

"What of the children?" Saruman wondered briefly if at that moment Galdor cared more about the three elflings than their father did.

"Bring them," he told the blond elf curtly before pushing his horse into a trot and following Gandalf.

The house Isowen and Erestor had built, an age before when Círdan founded the Grey Havens looked out onto the sea. Saruman expected that the children of Gondolin wished to be as close to their kin as possible, which begged the question why not just leave? For two it must have been spacious, for five Saruman doubted anyone in Gandalf's family had much room to themselves. The gate was open, Gandalf's horse left in the yard. It was better to wait, to give him a moment, Saruman decided and took the time to stable the horses. Finally he climbed the steps to the grey stone house. The windows let in the bright light of the afternoon sun, showing the dust from seven years of disuse on the floor. He took in the main room, dust sheets on the settees and table, undisturbed by Gandalf. The stairs did not creak as he passed the paintings on the wall and climbed to the upper floor. The door to the bedroom opposite stood ajar, revealing two tiny beds and the childish drawings of little girls. The waves appeared to be the only sound, coming from beyond the windows until Saruman distinguished another, fainter sound: crying.

"Olórin," he murmured from the doorway to the main bedroom. Isowen had not managed to resist the temptation to show her heritage, tiny bunches of golden flowers had been carved into the wooden bedposts and around the window. It was by the window, staring out at the sea that Saruman at least found his friend.

"Is it over?" a voice asked, older and deeper than Saruman ever remembered it being. "Is our mission done?" Sauron was vanquished, dead- and yet Saruman hesitated before answering.

"Look past your grief and tell me, do you think it is?" A silence stretched out between them and Saruman looked away from the tears that fell down the creased face. Gandalf had aged, his once dark blond hair had streaks of grey in it, his frown was etched onto his features and his shoulders drooped in a way that Saruman would have chastised had he not been so tactful.

"No." It astounded him how weary and sad one syllable could sound. Gandalf offered nothing else, returning his gaze to the sea.

From below, the sound of a door opening made them start. The elves were silent of foot but their voices rang out.

"Ada?" Alsea, Saruman suddenly remembered as he heard her running up the stairs. Galdor called her back to no avail. "Ada?" In one bound she came flying into the room, a waist high blur of blond hair and blue skirts. Gandalf turned to look slowly down at her, this strange creature that was his daughter attached to his hip. She was not crying as Saruman would have expected. "Where is Naneth?" He cursed Galdor for not telling them on the walk over, surely the elf would have explained where their mother was?

Gandalf's lack of an answer did not give way to silence as Gandir appeared, his younger sister held firmly in his arms. Really she was too big to be carried by a young boy but he clutched her to him all the same as if that could keep her safe.

"She has gone beyond the sea," Gandalf told them without looking up from Alsea. "It is just us now, little one." Alsea did not understand, that much was plain, and neither did the other two. The younger girl chose that moment to squirm and her brother lost his grip, dropping her unceremoniously to the floor. The movement caught Gandalf's eye.

"Ada?" The younger girl stumbled forwards, her arms outstretched to be lifted up by her father. Gandalf made no move to pick her up, whispering something Saruman could not hear.

He did hear Galdor's curse behind him, the elf pointing to his own silver braids as explanation. The two older children had Gandalf's colouring; or rather Glorfindel's with their hair of burnished gold. The younger girl, Yarna he thought, was Isowen's image. Saruman watched as the dark haired girl retreated into her brother's arms.

"Come, Curunír," Galdor murmured to Saruman. "Let us leave them to their grief." They retreated, closing the door behind them.

Galdor led him downstairs, opening the doors to the garden to let the air in.

"I will stay with them, if you have pressing business," Galdor said once they were alone. Saruman was sorely tempted to take the opportunity to leave Mithlond.

"In a few days his mind shall clear and we can leave them be." His tone made it sound as if he believed it and Galdor held him in enough awe to nod along. "If you will excuse me." Saruman had no further wish to be around the proof of how Olórin had wavered in their goal. They had been sent to rid Middle Earth of Sauron's evil, not to start a family and lose their minds in grief when another elf died. Saruman had resented Isowen whilst still liking her for her kindness. He did not however deem her a suitable reason for forsaking their mission.

Círdan stood in the street, his beard rippling in the breeze. Saruman knew at once that the Shipwright had been waiting for him.

"The laments of Melian are still heard in the forests of Valinor," the old elf said as he walked away, Saruman following him. "The grief of losing a love can bring an elf here, or cause them to fade into the darkness. Do not be so harsh to judge the bereaved."

"He turned away from our cause, given to us by the Valar themselves." Círdan gave him a flat stare, one Saruman would have placed on a haughty Noldor face, not the narrow Teleri one.

"Many turn aside, but they do not falter. In Glorfindel's task was he told to love Erestor? Was that written in his orders? I think not. Therefore you should not berate you friend, not when his heart has been torn asunder." They stood on the promenade facing the sea, graceful white ships bobbing in the waves.

"He must be strong again if we are to rebuild Middle Earth," Saruman declared as he turned from Círdan in frustration. The Shipwright was but an elf and had no right to speak to him in that manner.

"He will be, in time. Grief can make us stronger, harsh words rarely have that effect. Will you stay in the Ship House awhile? You will be more comfortable than with Mithrandir." Saruman nodded curtly at the invitation to stay with Círdan. He had to stay and at least have some clear indication that Gandalf would recover, he might as well avoid as much of his friend's sorrow as he could.

… …   
  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

Long legs strode past her, the hems of tunics at her eye level. Hands too, just the right height to pat her head as she passed. Some did, if she stopped to let them. No one crouched down to talk to her, each elf busy with a thousand things and had no time for a little waif. She liked the word, it needed her whole mouth to move when she said it. Lady Lentalin had called her that before the others came home: waif. Always underfoot, always running off with the older children into the city.

Lady Lentalin had noticed when she was missing, she had sent Gandir out to look for her. Now, no one noticed if she was not there, as long as she was back before Galdor came to give them supper. So in the hours between his visits she ran out of the house, crawling through the hedge and over the wall into the street for her sister would sit by the front door, waiting for their mother. She wanted to tell Alsea that their mother was not coming back but she did not dare. Gandir woke up before she did every morning and would make her put on a clean dress although he had no idea what to do with the dirty ones. Galdor only came and helped him with supper, he never did anything else. Gandir had brushed her hair as well, he kept petting it oddly. So she did not look too wild as she ran down to the wharves.

There she chose a ship and slipped into it, first climbing to the bow and looking down at the waves knocking the white wood, then scurrying below deck to hide in the nooks and crannies as she felt the ship sway against its ropes. She stayed there until she felt thirsty, no one had given her milk or water that morning. She emerged from the ship, her small feet skipping along the cobblestones of the promenade all the way to the Ship House. Círdan would have something for her, or Lady Lentalin. She loved the boat house, it had never been left to dust as her mother's house had. Always it had a new ship in its belly, the timbers being joined in the hall that sat over a slope running down the the river beneath the bridge. She thought it was a clever house, built so that one corridor was a bridge that had no doors and ran underneath the upper floors, the floor of the house did not quite touch the water except for the ramp. Even when everyone left to follow the banners the door to the Ship House had never been shut.

Inside the ship builders worked away, as they had done for as long as she could remember. Lady Lentalin had brought them to the Ship House every day to learn the craft, even the little ones.

"Yarna, what brings you here, tithen pen?" Círdan stroked her head as she ran up to him.

"May I have some milk?" she asked him. "T'is a long while until supper."

"Is there none in your house?" Círdan took her hand and led her up the stairs to the long room overlooking the ship in progress.

"Perhaps, but Galdor only comes at supper time." She smiled at Curunír who sat at a table. He had a longer beard than her father, and it was already white.

"I shall tell him to come more often," Círdan murmured. "Sit." She climbed into the chair next to Curunír, looking at the book in his hand curiously.

"You are Ada's friend," she said to him. Slowly he put the book down to face her.

"I am." She liked his voice, it sounded like her father's when he was telling a story.

"Can you make him smile again? He forgets us. He was gone so long, I think he forgot all about us."

"He spoke of you often, and he remembers you well." She frowned, her father rarely spoke now and he forgot to do the things that needed doing. Galdor had cleaned away all the dust, but some things he was not there for.

"Here, Yarna." Círdan had come back, a mug of warm milk and a plate of fruit in his hands. He set them before her and she delved into them hungrily. "I should have told Galdor they need checking on more often."

"It has been two weeks, Círdan. Still he does nothing." They were talking about her father, she knew, and if she kept quiet they might forget she was there and keep talking.

"I will ask Lentalin to take them back, but she has lost her son." She frowned when she heard that. Lady Lentalin would be sad. "Yarna, you do not need to hide that apple in your pocket."

"It was for the Lady!" she protested. "To make her smile." Círdan looked very sad as he took the apple from her.

"All are sad, Yarna. You can do nothing to help them."

"Do not listen to him, child," Curunír said suddenly, leaning closer. "Who do you know that is sad?"

"Ada," she replied at once. "And Gandir and Alsea. And Galdor but he pretends not to be. Lady Lentalin, and Círdan is sad too."

"Do you know what will make them happy again?"

"If everyone came back." Curunír looked at her solemnly.

"That may be so, child, but not everyone can come back. What else?" She scrambled down, pointing to the ship below them.

"When people are sad they come here. Nuncle came here once and he looked so very sad, but Erestor came and made him smile. Others, they go on ships."

"Perhaps one day." She frowned, looking up at Curunír.

"If Ada gets on a ship, I shall be all alone."

"Your Ada is not taking a ship," Círdan told her firmly. "Cease this, Curunír."

"He sits and watches the sea all day, and when we eat he never looks at us. When I speak to him he tells me to leave him be." She had managed to climb up into Curunír’s lap, which gave him a surprise.

"Does he speak to your brother and sister?" Curunír asked her.

"Sometimes, quietly. He lets them sit with him." She wanted to be allowed to sit with her father as well, she always used to curl up when he was reading and play with the strip of silk that hung down from the spine, the page marker when he closed the book. Now she ran out to the wharves every day and never sat with him.

"Curunír." Círdan have the beaded wizard a look only adults gave each other, which meant something was wrong. There had always been plenty of those looks before the banners were called.

"Apart from Mithrandir, who is in no condition to care for her, who else would take her in? Her uncle?"

"We should give him time, those children are all he has now." Curunír removed his beard from her curious hands, flattening it out again.

"He left our path for them, he should care for them now." Curunír stood abruptly, placing her on the floor. "Come, child, I shall return you to your father." He took her hand, his long arm not long enough to hold it at her height so she had to lift her arm up above her head to hold on.

"Hannon le, Círdan, for my milk," she called back, the Shipwright gave her a fond smile in return. Curunír walked too quickly through the streets back to her parents' house, her little legs tripped over themselves to keep up.

"Olórin!" Alsea jumped up as they came into the yard, running indoors ahead of them. Curunír let go of her hand, matching upstairs as he left the two girls to stare at each other.

"What have you done now?" Alsea asked, scampering up the stairs behind her sister.

"I am not to blame!" Alsea never heard when she said that. At their parents' door they stopped, listening intently.

"What-" They shushed Gandir as he appeared, all ears focused on their father and his friend within.

"Leave me be," their father murmured.

"Then take care of them, as is your duty. I warned you not to fall into this trap of emotion. Now care for these children, or be damned for letting Isowen's-"

"I cannot."

"Then send them away, to Glorfindel. If he can care for Lindir as his own he can care for them." Alsea pushed the door open, refusing to stay put.

"No, Ada! I do not want to go away!" The other two peeped around the doorframe nervously to see their father pick Alsea up.

"Nor shall you." Gandir and Yarna ran forward to receive the first embrace they had in weeks, their father taking his eldest two into his arms before stoping dead, his face ashen and haunted. Yarna flinched from it again. The look she kept getting, every day since her father came home.

"She is, the very image," her father murmured.

"Olórin?"

"Glorfindel, yes, he will- be gone, you are nothing but a ghost." Ghost, that sat on her tongue less comfortably than waif had.

"Olórin!" She had run away from them all, from Curunír and his voice, from her father and the look he gave her. She ran down the stairs and through the open door, straight into Galdor.

"Yarna?"

"I am not a ghost!" she told him before latching onto his leg tightly. He patted her hair as she started crying, creating a wet patch on his breeches' leg. "Not a ghost."

"No, tithen pen. You are not a ghost."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He had no choice but to look at them, and the more he looked the more he hated what he saw. The days dragged on and there was little change, a few words more than the day before, a movement from one room to the next, those were the only indications that time was passing in Olórin's mind.

Saruman watched, each day he found the child by his side as he tried to verify accounts and deal with what remained of the realms of Men from afar. He would have to leave the Havens soon, Círdan had no need of him and a Council had been called. Still he could not bear to leave her there alone. Galdor did what he could, each time Saruman saw him he was reminded of the elf's ineptitude. Perhaps the blond painter had been able to heal Glorfindel's wounds at one time but that was not what the children needed. Saruman had to wonder why he cared, they were children who should never have been born.

Yet he did, not for the elder two who shunned him, quiet in grief, but for the youngest. The child was quiet when he told her to be and quite content to sit for hours simply watching him or looking down at Círdan’s shipbuilders. When given permission to speak, however, Saruman could not answer questions quickly enough for her.

The summons came bearing Elrond's seal and Círdan had called Galdor to him, meaning to send him along with Saruman to Elrond's council. Saruman ignored it at first, Elrond was not King and could not command him to go. He had no love for the son in law of Galadriel for she disliked him from the start.

Still, he thought it over. He had to return to the wider world at some point, to cleanse it of the shadow they had been sent to destroy. Olórin had been led astray by the elves, Saruman refused to stay in the Havens and dwell on his friend's misery.

In the end he went to Círdan, taking Galdor with him.

"We leave for Imladris tomorrow," he told them both. "A Council without a King it shall be, and diminished in power." Of those who had formed their councils before, most were dead. Gil-Galad, Elendil, Oropher. Now Isildur, who had kept the Ring of Sauron when Elrond begged him to destroy it led the realms of Men, and Elrond and Thranduil were new to their roles. Saruman did not see them as leaders in this Council. Instead he expected Glorfindel and Galadriel to lead it, the last of the Firstborn who had seen the light of Aman.

"I should not like to leave Isowen's children alone," Galdor murmured. "Mithrandir is better, for sure, but he does not see past the shadows yet."

"They will be cared for, it is of greater importance that you go." Círdan paused a moment, his eyes locking onto Saruman's. The Teleri elf stared at him long and hard until behind his beard he smiled. "Galdor, you shall take Yarna to her uncle. Perhaps three children are too much of a burden on Mithrandir, Glorfindel will be glad of her in his own grief. Go now and prepare, as with ships there is a good tide on which to leave and yours is tomorrow's dawn."

Círdan had said little else all evening, wishing Saruman a good night only and telling Galdor to gather Yarna's things. Saruman rose and was waiting by the city gates. Galdor, for all his failings, was not tardy and arrived just as the sun rose above the hills and hit the surface of the Gulf of Lhûn. Sitting on his horse, bundled up in a blue cloak and half asleep, was Yarna.

"Good morrow, child," Saruman said as Galdor led his horse past him.

"T'is still yesterday," she complained. Galdor laughed at that and they mounted up, the child shaped bundle in front of the elf.

"Ego, bad!" Galdor called to their horses and they were off. They turned only once, Saruman noted, when Galdor made Yarna look back at the sea one last time.

For the first two days, the child was silent. Galdor spoke, which irritated Saruman until he saw why Erestor had a well-known dislike of the blond elf. He did not give the elf credit for trying to make the ride less dull or eerily quiet, after the third account of how the sunlight made painting shadows harder Saruman wished he had the child's ability to fall asleep whilst riding.

The fourth night they stopped under a hill, having fallen into a routine within the first day. Galdor tended the horses whilst the ever silent Yarna picked up branches and placed them delicately at Saruman's feet as he prepared the fire and food. Once their tiny camp was set up, she wandered off towards the hill.

"Yarna, come back here," Galdor told her. Dutifully she came back and they saw that she was crying. Not in the weeks since they had brought back news of her mother's death had Saruman seen her cry.

"Come here, child." She came and he sat her on the ground beside him gently. "What is the matter?"

"I like this place not," she spat. "It is an evil place." Saruman looked around at the pleasant, empty hills. They had passed through meadows and little woods for the past day, coming south of the White Downs within the realm of Arnor.

"What is this place?" he asked Galdor.

"Nowhere. A little patch of tame wilderness, brooks and streams and hills crowned with flowers. There are no people here, although it is a pleasant place." Saruman could sense no evil in their surroundings, nothing except a family of foxes living under the hill.

"There is nothing evil here, child," he told her only to find that she had nestled herself under his arms. Galdor looked at him uselessly. "Do you not believe me, child?" She looked up at him, her yellow eyes wide and watery. Slowly she nodded. "Good." To his dismay, she was still crying.

"Go to sleep, Yarna. Then you shall forget all about this evil you are afraid of." The child refused to move and Galdor sat back on his haunches, helpless.

"Listen, child, and I shall tell you a tale." She scrambled up eagerly to sit in front of Saruman. He had her in his thrall, as he easily had any elf. Saruman expected that Galdor would listen as intently as the child would, for all their kind had a weakness for stories. "When the world was made, a dark voice added discord to the harmony and beauty within it."

"Morgoth," the child murmured as she wrapped her blanket around her.

"Ilúvatar, father to all heard this discord, for none could mistake it. He raised his arm three times, each time creating a new chorus, greater than before. This, they believed was enough to overcome him and the world began. But great were the wrongs the Dark Voice wrought on the world and powerless were the Wise against the Shadow, for they could not leave their dwelling places far beyond the reaches of the world. They concocted instead a plan: to send forth beings of great light and power to fight this evil. Angels they named them, raised to great heights." Yarna had lain down by then, curled up tightly into a ball with only her luminous eyes peeping out to show that she was still awake. "One day, an angel will come forth and rid Middle Earth of all shadows. They will be of the blood of Kings and fairer than any other. Until then, angels watch over sleeping children to take them to distant lands whilst they sleep and guide them when they wake. They walk lands far to the east and north, through old forests where the trees rule themselves, and down to the sea where the damned walk alone. Some say they are kin to the lost souls that wander the endless shores."

"You tell beautiful lies, Curunír," Galdor whispered after a moment of silence and they were sure the child was asleep.

"Lies?" he asked, affronted.

"There is but one angel, and he is not lost, nor damned." Saruman smirked at him, the elf's adoration of someone who fit the description was slightly sickening to behold.

"As you say."


End file.
